Mated To My Dead Husband's Twin

It felt like a cruel joke to Elise.

"You are going to be late, Elise."

Her mother's voice was a sharp pinch, but Elise barely felt it. She was too busy staring at the woman in the mirror. The woman looked like her. She had Elise's dark hair, pinned up in a twist so tight it pulled at her temples. She had Elise's brown eyes, though they looked glassier than usual. But the diamond earrings weighing down her lobes didn't feel like hers. They felt like cold anchors.

Elise adjusted the left one. Her fingers were trembling. Just a little. A subtle vibration that traveled up her arm and settled as a knot in her stomach.

The door to the dressing room opened. Jarret walked in. He didn't look at Elise. He looked at his wrist, checking his watch with a frown that had become his permanent expression over the last six months of their engagement.

"The car is waiting," he said.

Elise turned on the stool. Her silk robe slipped off one shoulder. "Do you like the earrings? Your mother sent them," she asked.

"They're fine," Jarret said. He was already typing on his phone. "Did you pack the blue dress for the brunch tomorrow? The press loves that color on you."

"I asked about the honeymoon, Jarret," Elise said, her voice quiet. "We haven't talked about the schedule."

He finally looked up. His eyes were blue, piercing, and completely empty of warmth. He looked at Elise like she was a constituent he was trying to rush through a handshake line.

"It's just a formality, Elise. You know that. I have meetings in Paris. You'll shop. We'll take photos. Stop trying to make it a romance novel."

He turned his back to Elise. His phone buzzed. He answered it immediately, his voice dropping an octave.

"I have to take this. It's private."

He walked out. The door clicked shut.

Elise sat there in the silence of the massive Barrett estate, feeling the humiliation burn her cheeks. It wasn't a hot fire. It was a cold burn, like dry ice. She was marrying into a dynasty. She was becoming a Barrett. She should feel lucky.

Instead, she felt like she was walking toward a cliff edge.

The ceremony was a blur for Elise. She remembered the flash of cameras, the heavy scent of lilies that filled the air with a cloying sweetness, making her head feel tight and dizzy, and the way Jarret's hand felt dry and lifeless when he slid the ring onto her finger. He smiled for the crowd. He kissed Elise, but his lips were firm and unyielding, a seal on a contract rather than a promise.

Night fell. The reception ended. Elise sat on the edge of the bed in the master suite. The duvet was silk. Everything in this house was silk or marble or gold. Cold textures.

She dreaded the door opening. She dreaded the obligation of the wedding night. Jarret had made it clear that their physical relationship was just another duty, like cutting ribbons at library openings.

The handle turned.

Elise stiffened, her spine locking up.

The man who entered didn't stride in like he owned the floorboards. He hesitated. He stood in the doorway for a second, his silhouette framed by the hall light.

He closed the door and turned off the main chandelier, leaving only the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamps.

"Elise?"

The voice was Jarret's. But it sounded... thicker. Textured. Like gravel wrapped in velvet.

Elise looked up. He was loosening his tie. His movements were jerky, unsure. Not the smooth, practiced motions of the politician she had married hours ago.

"I'm ready," Elise said. It came out as a whisper. She flinched when he walked toward the bed. She expected a critique. She expected him to tell her to lie back and get it over with.

He stopped by the side of the bed. He saw Elise flinch.

He paused. His hand hovered in the air between them.

Then, slowly, incredibly slowly, he reached out. His fingers didn't grab. They brushed the stray hair behind her ear. His skin was warm. Calloused. Jarret's hands were never calloused.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He wasn't looking at Elise's body. He was looking into her eyes, searching for something. "The stress of the day... I'm sorry if I was distant."

Elise's heart did a strange, painful flip in her chest. "It's okay," she managed.

He sat down next to Elise. The mattress dipped. He smelled different. Under the expensive cologne, there was something earthy. Sweat and soap and heat.

He leaned in. Elise closed her eyes, bracing for the hard press of his mouth.

But his lips were soft. Tentative. He kissed her like he was asking a question, not stating a fact.

The kiss deepened. It became desperate. There was a hunger in him that terrified and thrilled Elise. His hands moved over her back, pulling her closer, as if he was afraid she would disappear.

For the first time all day-for the first time in six months-Elise didn't feel cold. She felt like she was burning up.

They fell back onto the pillows. It wasn't the mechanical act Elise had feared. It was intense. He was attentive to every breath she took, every sound she made. It felt like an apology. It felt like a goodbye.

When Elise woke up, the sun was cutting through the heavy drapes.

She reached out for the warmth next to her. The sheets were cold.

She sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest. The room was empty. On the pillow next to hers, there was a piece of hotel stationery.

Elise picked it up. The handwriting was hurried, jagged.

Duty calls. Wait for me.

There was no signature. No flourish. Just five words.

Elise traced the ink with her thumb. The knot in her stomach was gone, replaced by a confusing, fragile hope. Maybe marriage changed men. Maybe the mask had slipped, and she had seen the real Jarret.

Two months later.

The garden of the Barrett estate was in full bloom. It was a riot of manicured colors, pinks and whites that looked too perfect to be real. Elise was hosting a charity brunch. It was her job now.

Joyce Barrett, her mother-in-law, stood by the hydrangea bushes. She was wearing a grey suit that cost more than Elise's father's car.

"The centerpieces are too low," Joyce said, not looking at Elise. "They look cheap, Elise. Fix it next time."

"Yes, Joyce," Elise said. She smiled. She had perfected the smile. It didn't reach her eyes, but it showed her teeth.

A hush fell over the crowd.

It started at the back, near the buffet tables. Conversation died out like a candle being smothered. People stopped eating. They reached for their phones.

Elise frowned. She looked for Nina, her assistant.

Nina was rushing across the grass. Her face was pale, the color of old paper. She was holding a tablet with both hands, her knuckles white.

"Elise," she gasped. She didn't call her Mrs. Barrett.

She shoved the tablet into Elise's hands.

The screen was bright in the sunlight. The red banner at the bottom of the news feed screamed: BREAKING NEWS: DIPLOMATIC CONVOY BOMBED.

Elise's breath hitched. The location. It was where Jarret was.

Her phone rang in her clutch. It was a jarring, violent sound.

Joyce was there instantly. She snatched the phone from Elise's hand before she could look at the screen.

"Hello?" Joyce barked into the phone. "This is Joyce Barrett."

Elise watched her face. The iron mask she wore crumbled. Her lips parted. Her eyes went wide, staring at nothing.

She dropped Elise's phone. It hit the grass with a soft thud.

"He's gone," Joyce whispered. She wasn't looking at Elise. She turned her head toward the house, toward the massive oil painting of Jarret that hung in the foyer.

The world tilted for Elise. The sounds of the garden rushed back in-gasps, whispers.

"Widow," someone murmured behind Elise.

"The heir," someone else said.

Elise looked down at her stomach. Her hand moved there on its own. A reflex. She hadn't told anyone yet. She wasn't even sure until this morning.

She felt numb. The memory of that wedding night, the heat, the tenderness, crashed into the reality of the explosion. The man who had touched her so gently was gone. Vaporized.

"Turn up the volume," Joyce commanded Nina.

The news anchor's voice was tinny coming from the tablet.

"...confirmed fatalities include Jarret Barrett. However, reports indicate one survivor was pulled from the wreckage."

Elise held her breath.

"Jayden Barrett, the twin brother, has been identified as the sole survivor. A spokesperson noted the identification is provisional and was confirmed by the Barrett family pending formal review."

Elise blinked. Jayden. The soldier. The quiet one she had only met twice. The gentle husband was dead. The soldier had survived.

It felt like a cruel joke to Elise.